


(do it on my) twin bed

by visiblemarket



Series: Foundations [6]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, fun times on yavin iv, happy holidays, having sex in a tiny twin bed y'all, we out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:53:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: His father, sounding more amused than anything, calls out: “You boys okay in there?”Poe calls back, “Yep!” much too quickly, at a ridiculously high register that’s going to do nothing to convince his father that he and Finn are doing anything but exactly what it sounds like they’re doing. What theyare in factdoing. Finn starts to laugh against him, almost silently, and Poe cringes. “Just—” and his mind, his brilliant, strategic, outside-the-box, unmatched-in-a-dogfight mind, justblanks; it’s no match, apparently, for the way Finn’s justbarelypanting against him, stomach rising and falling shallowly against his, as his hands run lightly along Poe’s ribs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/4613.html?thread=10034949#cmt10034949), partially inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6-QG-rFf4po).

The door’s not even fully done sliding shut behind them before he’s dropped his bags and let himself be swept into Finn’s arms.

Finn’s as welcome and solid as ever, kissing him earnestly, almost picking him up in his enthusiasm to bring him close and keep him there. He pulls at Poe’s shirt, slipping his hands under it, sliding them along Poe’s back; Poe yanks at the sleeves of Finn's jacket, tries to wrestle it off Finn’s broad shoulders, desperate for better access.

They stumble blindly; Finn, who’s moving backwards, into unfamiliar surroundings he hasn’t even had a chance to get a proper look at, has an excuse; Poe, who’s merely overcome by the chance to rub up against his boyfriend for the first time in maybe two weeks, does not. So when they crash against the converted storage unit that'd held the majority of Poe’s galactic belongings from the ages of four to eighteen, setting the old but well-dusted little league limmie trophies toppling over, it’s more Poe’s fault than anyone’s.

Not that it stops them, at first — Finn’s grabbing his ass and sucking at his tongue and Poe’s taking that as a sign that he’s a-okay with the way things are proceeding. Pressing up against him, cradling Finn’s face in his hands and kissing him harder. Rolling his hips against Finn’s, slowly as he can manage, grinning as Finn moans into his mouth and spreads his legs, letting Poe settle between them.

And then there’s a _thump-thump-thump_ sound from the door, the kind made by someone smacking the palm of their hand against it. Poe just barely stops himself from jolting away from Finn.

His father, sounding more amused than anything, calls out: “You boys okay in there?”

Poe calls back, “Yep!” much too quickly, at a ridiculously high register that’s going to do nothing to convince his father that he and Finn are doing anything but exactly what it sounds like they’re doing. What they _are in fact_ doing. Finn starts to laugh against him, almost silently, and Poe cringes. “Just—” and his mind, his brilliant, strategic, outside-the-box, unmatched-in-a-dogfight mind, just _blanks_ ; it’s no match, apparently, for the way Finn’s just _barely_ panting against him, stomach rising and falling shallowly against his, as his hands run lightly along Poe’s ribs. Poe turns his head away, to avoid shouting in his ear, and gives up. “Yep, we’re fine!"

There’s a pause, during which Poe _hopes to hell_ his father is not making use of the emergency override to enter the room. “Uh-huh,” comes the eventual response. The door stays closed. “Two of you should get some sleep,” say Kes, matter-of-fact. “I know I will be, _all_ the way on the other side a’ the house. And so will your grandpa. Who’s just next door."

Finn tenses against him; Poe glances over. His eyes are wide, and Poe holds back a chuckle. Nods in confirmation before pulling away. “Yeah,” he says to himself, to Finn, and then: “I hear ya," he calls out, for his father’s benefit. He rubs at the back of his neck, immediately missing the suffusing heat of Finn’s body against his. “Good night, dad."

“G’night, kid. Good night, Finn!”

Finn’s quick “Good night, sir!” is met with another fond tap against the door, and a “Kes’s fine, Finn!”

Poe lets out a quick huff of laughter, and heads over to the control panel. Eases the lights on, not all the way, but enough for them both to get the lay of the land.

He turns around to find Finn meticulously trying to right all the trophies they’d knocked over, and then blinking at them, taking them in for the first time in the newly available brightness. “Oops?” Finn offers, glancing over at Poe as he comes to help.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s—” _not the first time I’ve had a boy in my room_ , Poe almost says, but thinks better of it. “Not a big deal.”

Finn smiles, and Poe wants to kiss him again; almost does, in spite of the not-so-subtle warning he just got, but then Finn turns his head, goes back to inspecting the trophies, even picking one up to get a better look at the tiny figure frozen in athletic stride. “Look at all these. You must’ve been pretty good."

“Don’t—they’re not—” Finn looks at him again, smirking a little, and Poe can feel himself blushing. “I wasn't. Most’ve them are just—participation things. Everyone on the team got ‘em.”

“‘Poe Dameron — Most Valuable Player, Gordian Reach Junior League’,” Finn reads off the plaque, filled with obvious glee. “Weird thing for everyone on your team to get."

“It just means I passed the ball a lot.”

Finn chuckles to himself, puts down the trophy; runs his finger over the tiny figure once more. “That what your dad would say if I asked him about it?"

“Probably not.” _Definitely_ not; Kes would bring out holocube album with all the ‘vids and the occasional ( _very_ occasional) press clippings from the local news. There would be holos of Poe running around in tiny shorts. There would be _play-by-play commentary_. Poe will now have to devote the rest of his life to making sure _that_ never happens. Screw defending the galaxy from wide scale tyranny, his _pride_ is now at stake.

Finn chuckles, evilly, as if he’s already planning the conversation, and turns around. Whatever he’s about to say is lost as his attention lights on the bed he and Poe’ll be sharing for the duration: “Poe Dameron, are those _A-wing bed sheets_?”

“Oh, _Force dammit, dad_ ,” Poe says, under his breath, because they are — they 100% are. It’s a whole set, actually, pillows and comforter and all, with an alternating pattern of blue and red RZ-1’s, rendered in a charmingly soft and childlike style and begged for, for weeks, by one Poe Dameron. When he was six.

“In my defense,” he says, watching as Finn walks over to the bed, sitting down to take in the rest of the room. “Those were considered super cool when I was a kid.” Finn throws him a look like he maybe doubts this, which is hurtful, really. Poe has to laugh as he joins him on the bed. “Well, by me, anyway."

“And those?” Finn says, nodding up toward the ceiling, where a veritable, if perhaps very tempestuous, fleet of model ships hangs from the ceiling: there’s definitely a preponderance of old Rebellion spacecraft, with your A- and X- wings, a T-1 shuttle like the one they came on, and even some early Republic ships, like the N1-starfighters, but the amount of old Imperial warships, including the not infrequent TIE fighters, is probably surprising and perhaps, if Poe thinks about it, a little insensitive to his present company.

Finn looks nothing so much as delighted, though, and amused — even if Fin’s laughing at him, at least he’s laughing, so Poe doesn’t mind. “My dad and I put most of them together. A lot of them are remote controlled; we used to fly ‘em around in the yard, y’know. I think my dad just wanted to keep me from stealing my mom’s A-wing, honestly.” Finn smiles, and Poe stands up again, eager to show off. “Got me this projector once, too, could do all sorts of star systems up on the wall, ceiling, wherever you wanted—”

“This?” Finn says, and Poe glances back.

“Nah,” Poe says, and goes back to rummaging through his desk. “That’s a holocube album. You press the thing on the side, there’s pictures of—”

“Is this you?” Finn says, practically chortling, because of course it is: Poe’s not sure which set is up first, but it’s bound to be something terrible, either his gangly, awkward pre-teen stage, when his father got particularly holo-happy, or ones featuring the terrible early Academy haircut, or even worse, the baby photos. Poe doesn’t mind, really: there’s worse things to know about him, and most of them, Finn already does.

There’s a strange silence behind him; Poe only notices it retroactively, once it’s broken.

“You look just like your mom.”

Poe snorts. “Yeah, everyone says that.” Everyone always has, ever since he was a kid, but especially now, surrounded by the old Rebel guard, he gets it practically every day. Admiral Ackbar, who can get a little hazy on the distinctions between human genders, has, in moments of not-rare frustration, actually called him Shara by mistake. Honestly, it’s something of an honor.

Poe turns around, about to tell him all that, and Finn’s still staring at the picture. It’s of Poe’s parents on their wedding day, though that's not immediately obvious from the image: both of them in their formal uniforms, bright eyed, hands bound together by a ceremonial purple ribbon. His mom’s beaming at his dad, curls already escaping from the elaborate hairstyle someone’d forced them into; his dad’s grinning at her with tears in his eyes, clearly about three seconds from sweeping her off her feet and twirling her around.

Finn press a button, and the image shifts, to Poe and his mother in the cockpit of her A-wing, Poe’s chubby little hands pressed against the controls as Shara points at something, explaining it, eyes serious and serene, mouth quirking into a slight smile. The image shifts again — it’s the three of them this time, something of an official family portrait, probably sent to his grandfather to assure him that Poe had survived the first year with his parents just fine. His mother’s hair is down, for once, and both Poe and his father have clearly just gotten haircuts and new shirts.

Finn stares at the picture for a moment, than turns the cube off.

Poe joins him on the bed. Their thighs press together, and Finn hazards a quick glance over to him.

“You okay?” Poe says, though the answer’s pretty obvious.

“Yeah.” Finn’s voice is soft, thoughtful. He passes the holocube back to Poe, and then shrugs. “Just thinking."

“About your parents?” Poe asks, because he doesn’t want to presume. Finn doesn’t meet his eye, but nods. Poe leans over, puts the cube back down on the nightstand, and then reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Finn’s wrist. “Well,” he says, careful, casual. “Can tell you this for sure: they must’ve been gorgeous, both of them. And very, very brave."

Finn gives a strangely wary look. “Yeah? How d’you figure that?"

Poe elbows him lightly, throws in a wink for good measure. “You had to get it from somewhere, buddy."

Finn rolls his eyes and turns away, but he’s smiling, a little. “Yeah, I guess.”

“C’mon,” Poe says, tapping his hand onto Finn's thigh. “You heard my dad. Let’s get some sleep, okay?"

Finn looks back at him, intense in that way he gets sometimes, when he’s figuring something out; Poe’s almost used to it by now, doesn’t let it worry him anymore. Eventually, Finn smiles a little, and nudges back. “If you say so, man."

He does, and they do — they both strip down to their underwear and undershirts. Poe turns off the light. Finn slips into bed.

Poe is careful, joining him. It’s a tight fit, smaller than Poe’s bunk back on base, which at least was designed for a grown man. His options are limited, and what he wants, really, is to drape himself all over Finn and settle in, maybe see where the proximity leads. But between the bedsheets and the baby pictures and the grandfather in the next room situation, to say nothing of the Finn’s sudden stillness, Poe figures the mood’s been pretty well killed. He settles for lying on his side, and Finn mirrors him, leaving them face to face and close enough to touch, but still apart.

Which is fine. Finn’s warmth is enough, having him there is enough. Seeing him across the scant inches between them, softly lit by the glimmers of reflected planetary light. Finn smiles at him, then opens his mouth as if to speak. But he hesitates, forehead wrinkling, and then blinks. “What the hell is that?”

Poe frowns. “What the hell is what?”

“The…” Finn waves his hand vaguely, by his ear. “Buzzing?"

Poe listens for it. Chuckles. “Oh. Yeah. That’s the piranha beetles.”

“The…piranha beetles,” says Finn, dryly.

“Oh yeah, they’re these vicious little bastards — conventional wisdom’s they can eat the flesh clean off a runyip in under five minutes, but that’s really down to the size of the swarm, y’know? You only hear them at night if they’re buildin’ a new hive, and we try and keep them away from the ranch, usually clear out the—” he stops short, because Finn’s lips have found his in the not-quite darkness.

It’s a nice kiss, soft and wet, just a hint of tongue; Poe shuts his eyes and leans into it, wrapping an arm around Finn’s waist to drag himself closer.

“Wow,” Poe says, when they break apart. “Didn’t think the beetle talk'd be that much of a turn on."

“It wasn’t,” Finn says, fingers stroking the back of Poe's neck, thumb running along the side of Poe’s jaw.

“Nah?” Poe says, squirming a little closer, so they’re chest to chest. He feels Finn’s dick twitch against his stomach. “You don’t wanna hear about how they can smell blood from two miles—” Finn laughs a little, and kisses him again. Wetter this time, more tongue; Poe slips his thigh between both of Finn’s, grins as Finn grinds up against him.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, practically into Finn’s mouth, and Finn shushes him, before leaning in, kissing him harder. Poe goes with it, rocking against him, pulling artlessly at Finn’s shirt.

They’re a heady tangle of limbs, residual giggles, and good intentions at first. Poe’s hard, of course, just from being that close to him — hell, just from kissing him, sometimes — but it’s not till Finn groans in frustration and rolls them over that the reality of the situation hits him: he’s a grown man about to get off in his childhood bedroom, in his _childhood bed_ , and while it’s hardly the _first_ time that’s happened, now it’s with an ridiculously attractive and impossibly sweet man that he’s maybe entirely in love with, which is new.

Sixteen year old him is ecstatic. Thirty-two year old him worries they’re going to fall off the bed.

Finn presses him against the mattress, the weight of his body pinning Poe down, grounding him in the moment — Poe looks up at him, and his breath catches. He reaches out, rests the palm of his hand to Finn’s cheek. Finn’s expression is hard to read, in the dark, but Poe catches a glimmer of confusion and perhaps even concern, so he grins. “Hey,” he says, a little coy. “Fancy meeting you here."

Finn snorts and maybe rolls his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, leaning in. “Fancy that.”

Finn bypasses his mouth this time, opting to drop warm, wet kisses up the side of Poe’s throat. Poe leans his head back, arching his neck, encouraging him, while trying to shift away from the edge of the bed, as subtly as he can. It’s a bit of a struggle, with Finn covering him, with Finn’s cock straining against his. Poe does his best not to melt, to not get lost in the feeling, at least until they’re centered in the narrow bed and Finn's settled easily between his legs.

He closes his eyes. Finn pants against his ear, heavy and familiar. Poe runs a hand along Finn’s side, slips another up and under Finn’s shirt. Finn murmurs something, soft, pleased, in his ear.

Their hips slide together; gently, at first. Poe finds himself tracing the too-smooth scar bisecting Finn’s spine, more out of habit than anything, and swallows hard. Thrusts up against Finn, wanting a reminder of Finn’s strength, of his hard-won resilience. Finn gives it, grinding down against him, burying his nose in Poe’s hair; Poe rocks back, and it escalates, as it usually does, till they’re rutting against each other hard enough to send the bed frame slamming against the wall behind it.

Poe’s willing to let that go—people move around in their sleep all the time, what’s a bit of bed slamming in the middle of the night, really?— but Finn pulls back again, body tense, shoulders rigid with apparent embarrassment.

“Shhh,” Poe says, holding in a nervous giggle of his own. “C’mere, c’mon, we can—”

“Poe—”

“You feel so good,” he says, which is playing a little dirty, but he catches sight of Finn’s quick, shy grin, and rubs at his back. “I wanna…”

“Yeah, I know you wanna."

Poe sobers instantly. “We don’t have to—"

Finn groans a little, and surges back against him, kissing him soundly. Pulls back. Perches over Poe, hands flat on the mattress, leaving their hips to press together, along with their cocks; a very frustrating position, to be frank. “Your dad—"

“Other side of the house,” Poe says quick, breathless. “Won’t hear a thing."

“Your grandfather—"

“Deaf as a post.” It’s true enough, and hey, it works, because Finn chuckles, and relaxes.

Poe smiles, and slides his hand down, pushing Finn’s underwear out of the way. Wraps a light hand around Finn’s cock, and gives a couple of quick, loose strokes. Finn squirms a little in his grip, and the mattress squeaks. They both try not to dissolve into giggles, but Poe can feel him, shaking with contained mirth; presses his palm to Finn’s stomach, feels the firm muscles twitch.

“Don’t move,” he says, thoughtlessly, and Finn doesn’t: keeps almost preternaturally still, actually, as Poe jerks him off, even as his cock begins dripping. Poe lets the precome coat his fingers, rubs his thumb against the slit. Finn lets out a rough, shuddery breath; his arms, still bracketing Poe’s body, tremble with effort.

“C’mere,” Poe murmurs, and Finn leans in. Poe lifts his head to kiss him. Tries to keep the pace of his palm going, and has to reach out, wrap his hand around the back of Finn’s neck for leverage.

It’s not the most comfortable position he’s ever been in, admittedly; half sitting up, half lying on the bed, entirely dependent on Finn for balance. He’d go so far as to call it awkward as hell, nice as it to be kissing Finn again. He's not in it for long, at least — Finn comes suddenly, onto Poe’s shirt, with a gasp.

They tumble back onto the bed, which makes a low, wheezing sound in response.

Finn’s very warm and very loose, and he smells amazing, all sweaty satisfaction. Poe’s very, very hard, and none of that is helping, except that in a manner of speaking it is — it’s helping to make him more desperate, but it feels more than a little rude to rub up against Finn’s stomach while he’s still recovering.

Finn inhales, slow and deep; Poe feels his chest rise and fall with it, feels the warm bloom of the exhaled air through the thin fabric of his undershirt. Sighs with relief the second Finn’s hand begins to creep down his chest. Comes in what feels like an instant, after barely four steady strokes to his cock, and feels much too good to be embarrassed about it.

It does leave a bit of a mess, though; his come, all over his shirt, mixed with Finn’s. As romantic an image as that undoubtedly is, by morning, it’ll be pretty unpleasant. He sighs.

“Where’re you—” Finn reaches for him, as he sits up. The mattress creaks, yet again.

“Shh,” Poe says, slipping his shirt over his head and tossing it toward his desk. “Stay down."

“Okay,” Finn mumbles, tone drowsy and fond. His broad hand finds the small of Poe’s back and encourages him back down, flopping graceless and suddenly exhausted across Finn’s chest. Finn strokes at his now-bare skin like he’s never had a chance to before, which is patently untrue. “I like _this_ look."

Poe snorts, settling in against him. “Yeah, yeah."

For a moment, there’s silence – no buzzing of carnivorous insects, no squeaking of beds. Just Finn’s still-steading breaths mixed with his own. And then:

“Hey,” Finn says, softly.

Poe nuzzles a little closer to him, just because he can, pressing his nose to the curve between Finn’s neck and his shoulder.

“What?"

“Don’t think I missed that framed photo of General Organa on your desk over there.”

Poe groans, as Finn starts to giggle underneath him.

“It’s signed, too,” he says, because he’s a masochist. “I sent a letter, when I was like, twelve, and she—" and Finn has to press his face into Poe’s hair to muffle his laughter. “What?” Poe says, barely able to contain his own. “I was a really big fan as a kid.”

“Oh, right, _as a kid_.” Finn snorts, and Poe nips lightly at the side of his neck in retribution. Finn doesn’t seem to take it as such, wraps an arm around Poe’s waist to draw him closer.

“Get some sleep, buddy."

“I’ll do my best, _kid_ ,” Finn says, snickering.

**Author's Note:**

> Is an _SNL_ music video the weirdest thing I've based a fic on? Probably not. But it's up there. 
> 
> Shout out to the film _[Belle](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2404181/)_ , for reasons that may be obvious if you've seen it, and if you haven't -- you should. Gugu Mbatha-Raw (of "San Junipero" fame) is fantastic in it.
> 
> Anyway. I wrote this back in May, but I decided it was finally time to put it on AO3 because I think it's cute and fluffy and hopeful, and I want _that_ to be the last thing I post in 2016. Which has been rough, as we all know, but made a little better by good fics and good friends. If you're reading this now, I consider you among the latter, and I hope you found this to be the former. 
> 
> Good luck in the year to come, and as always, thanks for reading <3


End file.
